


Began

by what_a_dork_fish



Series: Uni [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Hurt/Comfort, Tags Are Hard, not really but sort of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8320240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: So the folly begins...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is part one of a series because I'm tired of never finishing multi-chapter stories. Enjoy!

“Hey. I’m James.”

“Hello. I’m Q.”

They shook hands, and inspected each other.

Q saw the “roguishly handsome” type: craggy face, piercing blue eyes, military-short blond hair, broad-shouldered, probably well-muscled. Either indifferent or hostile to boffins like him.

James saw the “weedy geek” type: angular, awkward, fragile. Probably failed every P.E. class he’d ever taken and never done sports. His hair really needed to be tamed. Probably resentful of rugby players like him.

And they were supposed to be roommates?

Q cleared his throat. “I stay up late studying,” he offered.

“I party all night,” James replied. “I won’t apologise for leaving dirty dishes around the room.”

“That’s alright. I’d probably get angry at you for cleaning them wrong. I refuse to leave my clothes on the floor.”

“Same.”

Q eyed James thoughtfully. “I think we can make this work,” he announced.

James grinned. “You know, I have to agree.”

~

For the first two weeks or so, they stayed out of each other’s way. They were very strict about “my side, your side”, and settled into a routine for bathroom-use. James didn’t bring girlfriends to the rooms, Q turned off his laptop at 1AM so as not to keep either of them up too long because of glare. They didn’t ask each other about their studies. In fact, neither of them knew what classes the other was taking for a good three weeks.

One night, James was laying on his bed reading while Q typed an essay on his laptop, when someone knocked on the door.

“I’ll get it,” James said automatically, and stood, still engrossed in his book. Q grunted and kept typing. It was only when he heard a frantic, familiar voice that he looked up.

“—just crashed, and I need Boothroyd’s help because this is a huge assignment so please can I come in and talk to him?” Michael was saying in a rush. Q frowned and saved his document before pushing his laptop out of the way.

James raised an eyebrow at the underclassman. “Why the please?” he asked dryly, and stepped aside. “Have at him. It’ll do him good to actually fraternize with the peasantry.”

“Oh thank you,” Michael sighed, ignoring the insult, and rushed over the Q, who was staring at James in shock. “Look, Boothroyd, it crashed, and I have the cord here and all I had plugged in was my drawing tablet—“

“Alright, alright, calm down,” Q interrupted soothingly, taking the laptop and inspecting it carefully. It was really quite battered. “Yeah, I can probably get this running again, but you should really save up for a new one. How old is this?”

“Only a year,” Michael answered miserably. “I’ll give you fifty quid to fix it. Seventy quid. One hundred! Please, just fix it!”

“I’ll take twenty pounds,” Q answered absently, holding the laptop upside down and feeling the casing. “It might’ve just overheated. Let me get this open and we’ll see.”

James sat on his bed and watched, pleasantly surprised, as Q showed Michael how the fan had gotten choked with dust, and how the battery was probably dead for good. He hadn’t expected Boothroyd, with his fancy equipment and designer frumpy clothes and brand new textbooks, to be a tech wizard and willing to help a middleclass kid like Michael. In James’ experience, the rich kids at this school tended to turn up their noses at that kind of thing.

Q taught Michael how to clean the fan properly, and instructed him on which battery to save up for, and collected his twenty pounds. Then he whipped around and glared at James, who looked back innocently.

“Why did you call him a peasant?” Q snapped. “So his family’s hit a rough patch, so what? That doesn’t make him peasantry.”

James shrugged. “I didn’t expect an aloof rich kid like you to be helpful to a mere freshman,” he replied neutrally.

“Aloof—!” Q couldn’t find the right words for a moment, and almost started cursing James out. “I’m not “aloof”! And I’m not rich, either! I _work_ for a living, thank you very much!”

James raised an eyebrow again. Well. This was new information, and he was intrigued. “Work where? You spend all your free time studying, and you never talk to anyone. And your kit is brand new.”

Q actually blushed. “I work online,” he got out through gritted teeth, “And I don’t talk to anyone because no one ever wants to talk to me. Why force myself in where I’m not wanted?”

Now both of James’ eyebrows rose. “Not wanted? Q, I know a dozen girls swooning over you, and a dozen guys who’d kill to be your friend.”

“Lies,” Q replied, with such conviction that James blinked. “No one likes me. No one ever has.” And he turned back to his essay, leaving James to stare thoughtfully at his back.

~

After that, James became what Q would call “insufferable”.

He invited Q to several parties, but the one time Q went, he’d been so intimidated and alienated that he left after twenty minutes. He claimed he needed to finish studying for physics. Then James lured him to the bar after a particularly bad test with the promise of a good beer, and only revealed when they got there that there was a pool tourney. Needless to say, Q tried to escape without the beer; but James caught his arm and dragged him right into the fray, and insisted on teaching him how to lay bets.

They left because other people began to notice Q’s misery and shyness, and that made him even more miserable and shy. James insisted on coming home with him, too—“You can’t walk, you’ll be jumped in seconds, and you can’t drive because it’s _my_ car.”

“I should never have come,” Q muttered, trying to be quiet enough that James didn’t hear.

Unfortunately, he did hear, and snorted as they climbed into the car. “You’re just not socialized properly,” James told him. “We’ll find something that’s not traumatizing, you’ll see.”

Q gave him an indecipherable look, but said nothing.

It was five weeks into the school year.

~

James found out what Q was doing for a living when, one night, he didn’t turn off his laptop.

“Come on, Q, just turn it off so we can both sleep,” James groaned.

“The CIA isn’t going to hack itself,” Q replied absently.

They both froze.

“I mean—“

“ _What_ did you just—“

“I’m just playing a game!” Q defended himself, but he was a horrible liar and James saw right through it.

“Playing a game against the fucking CIA?!” James nearly leapt out of bed and stormed over, yanking the laptop from Q’s desperate fingers and inspecting the screen. The programs running were indecipherable to him, but they most definitely had something to do with coding. He stared in disbelief as a little window popped up that declared [hack complete!] in bright green letters.

“James,” Q said, in an uncharacteristically low and hostile voice, “Give me back my laptop right. Fucking. Now.”

Slowly, James complied. Q immediately began collecting data, and maybe “covering his electronic footprint” as the spy movies would say. James stood by quietly and watched Q play his games with the CIA. This… was not what he expected from bashful, quiet Q. Then again—it also made perfect sense.

“Who do you work for?” James asked quietly.

“It’s none of your business,” Q replied tartly, and began closing windows. “As it is, they’ll probably punish me for letting you _near_ this laptop. Now go to bed. I’m finished.”

James stood firm. “Not until you tell me.”

“It’s none. Of your. Business.” And Q turned such a glare on him that he wavered, thinking uneasily of his father and the punishments he’d doled out for “unacceptable behavior”. But Q couldn’t punish him. He was too frail, too easily subdued. He couldn’t possibly hurt James.

Then again, you didn’t have to get physical to hurt someone.

“Fine,” James conceded, taking a step back. “But you’re explaining in the morning, if I have to burn every pair of pants you own.”

Q ignored the threat and simply set about shutting down his laptop for the night.

~

In the end, James never got his explanation. Q got up early and came back late. He put on his headphones whenever he was in the dorm room. He avoided James when he could (not that this was particularly difficult). He was being, in every way, an arse.

Not that James was any better. He began to leave his clothes on the floor, knowing that every time Q saw them his hands and eye would twitch. He left the toilet seat up. He used Q’s special shower-soap. In every detail, he was being a petty piece of shit.

But somehow, for some reason, neither of them had the heart to blow up at the other.

James eventually convinced himself that Q had been lying. Q seemed to guess this, and stopped wearing headphones and deliberately avoiding all conversation. In return, James stopped using his soap and always remembered to put the seat down. The clothes, though, had become a habit. He was very careful to keep them on his side of the room.

One afternoon, though, Q snapped. _With James in the room_ , he got up, looked around, said, “This place is a pigsty,” and began gathering all of James’ clothes off the floor and dumping them on his bed.

“Hey hey hey HEY!” James yelped, grabbing Q’s arm, “Stop, those are all dirty!”

“Then put them in your hamper!” Q retorted, and threw another sock on the bed. “Besides, I know for a fact that _that_ pile was cleaned just yesterday, so you might as well hang them up.”

James opened his mouth to speak, but there was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Q sighed. “It’s probably Maria and her tablet. I keep telling her not to buy the knockoffs…” He strode to the door and opened it with a weary, “What is it this time?”

“Hello, Boothroyd,” said a smooth, cold voice. James immediately straightened from trying to sort the clothes on his bed.

“Hello, Wilson,” Q replied coolly, and stepped back. “Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you.”

In stepped a tall, dark-haired man with a handlebar mustache so neat and perfect it looked fake. His cold grey eyes took in every detail of the dorm, including James, and passed them all by. He turned back to Q as the student closed the door gently. “Is this him?” Wilson asked.

“Yes,” Q answered. “It’s no use trying to scare him, though. James, would you please leave? Wilson and I have things to discuss.”

James eyed Wilson. “No,” he surprised them, and also himself. “I don’t think I will.” Then he went back to sorting his clothes.

“Don’t bother,” Q said sharply, and James glanced up to see Wilson ease back a step. “We’ll just leave.”

“This is a secured area,” Wilson argued. “It would be best if we spoke here.”

“It won’t be secure if you try to throw him out and raise a racket. Let’s go elsewhere.” Q scooped up his laptop and began putting it and all its paraphernalia in his favorite bag, talking over his shoulder. “And _not_ to that disgusting restaurant that’s on the list. I’d rather eat sewage than another one of their sandwiches.”

Since James knew that Q would put literally anything edible into his mouth, that meant only one place: Choo Choo Dinner, the worst restaurant on the face of the Earth. Someone had to have sold their soul to the Devil for that place to still be running. But what list was it on? Why were they so nattered about security?

Q finished packing his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and turned to see James watching him curiously. “It’s nothing to do with you,” he told James firmly. “Don’t try anything, or I’ll make you flunk everything and have you kicked off the rugby team.”

James raised his hands in surrender. As Q said, it had nothing to do with him. And the threat was not empty or idle. Just last week, a particularly vicious professor had lost all his data for his next book. It had sent him into a blind rage, accusing everyone from the dean to the janitor who cleaned the professor’s office—but he’d never looked to Q.

“I expect answers when you get back,” he informed Q’s back as he and Wilson left.

Q waved a hand vaguely in acknowledgement and closed the door.

James went back to sorting his clothes.

~

“So that was the boy.”

“You’re barely three years older than him, Wilson. Here.” Q held out a USB drive, and Wilson took it cautiously. “Oh, for god’s sake, man, it’s not going to infect you! Just get that to her and tell her to open it on a secure network. _Not_ the one they’ve got set up in Q-branch.”

“She’s to open it on the one _you_ ’ve set up,” Wilson clarified pointedly.

“Exactly,” Q answered, unabashed.

Wilson sighed heavily. “Just because you’re the old boy’s nephew doesn’t mean you get to act like you’re _actually_ Q. He’s still spritely enough.”

“Yes, well, he’s given me his name and I’m keeping it. I like it better than my old one, anyway.”

“And the power-trip?”

“There is none.”

“Come off it, Boothroyd. You’ve got Q-branch by the balls. And all you do it tap away at your computer—“

“It’s _work_ , Wilson. I like it. I’m good at it. Uncle knows that. And so does she.”

“Don’t bring her into this.”

“She’s the only one who can get you to listen, apparently.”

They glared at each other for a good five minutes. Wilson broke contact first, looking down at the pavement. Then he looked up with a charming smile that Q saw right through. He was furious.

“You’re right, Boothroyd,” Wilson replied. “She is.”

Then he walked away.

Q waited until he was out of sight to slowly let out a low, shaky breath. He hated staring down agents, even agents in training. But he had to get better at it, if he was to be R one day.

He had no illusions. He would never be Quartermaster. He wasn’t enough of a leader for that. But a second-in-command, ah, that, he could do. And nothing less would suffice.

~

James had finished sorting his laundry and putting it all away when Q returned. He stood as Q stepped through the door, and pointed at Q’s bed. Meekly, the boffin closed the door and walked to the bed, sitting on the edge and hefting his bag into his lap. He gazed up at James calmly. Funny, James had never noticed how green his eyes were.

“Did that bloke have anything to do with your “hack” of the CIA?” James asked bluntly.

“Yes,” Q answered.

“Are you going to tell me who he is?”

Q stood, went to the door, and opened it, scanning the hall. After a moment he stepped back inside and closed it. Then he went to the window and opened that, checking outside before closing it again and pacing back to stand very close to James.

“This goes no further than this room,” he murmured, so quiet James almost didn’t hear. “Swear.”

“On my parents’ graves,” James whispered back. Wow, Q smelled nice.

Q nodded. “He’s MI6,” he answered James’ earlier question softly. “So am I.”

“MI6.”

“Yes.”

“Spy stuff? Like in the movies?”

“Not… quite. But yes. Spy stuff. We’re both still in training.”

A spy. James was sharing a room, sharing god damn air, with a _spy_. He grinned. “Always wanted to meet a spy,” he murmured.

“Well, now you’ve met two.” Q eased back, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. In a more normal volume, he announced, “I need to work on this assignment. What are you going to do?”

“Go out. Barnaby promised me a drink.” Barnaby had done no such thing, but James wanted some time to process what he’d just learned.

Q gazed at him sternly for a moment, then nodded, as if he knew James’ excuse was rubbish and had decided not to care. “Don’t get too drunk, and be back before 1AM so I don’t lock you out again.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll just bring my own key.” James grinned again and Q rolled his eyes. Then James sobered. “I’ll be back before midnight. I need one more explanation.”

Q’s face tightened minutely, but he nodded again. James gave him one last searching look before grabbing his jacket, pulling on his shoes, and escaping into the night.

~

The explanation had to wait. When James staggered back into the dorm at midnight, Q was fast asleep, curled up on his side facing the wall. James lumbered to the bathroom, stripped, and turned on the shower—but he didn’t actually get in.

Instead, he leaned on the counter, hands braced because the room was swaying a little too much for his liking, and tried to stop thinking. A useless exercise, but he bravely attempted it anyways. The reason he didn’t want to think was sleeping just beyond the door, doing that ridiculous, delicate little snore of his. James smiled fondly, too stoned to realize that perhaps he shouldn’t find his roommate’s snore cute.

The smile faded. A spy. A fucking spy. No, not a spy; a hacker, an intelligence agent. A man who breaks into secured cyberspaces to steal what he wills and then hands the information to another spy for turning over to MI6. Not at all the kind of work James expected of his quiet, private, antisocial roommate.

Although… no one would know. If he were careful enough (and James knew enough about Q to know that he was always careful), he could get away with it. Just find a nice secluded corner of the classroom, set up shop, and have at it. Come to think of it—what _were_ Q’s classes? James had never asked. Did he even _have_ classes? Or was the setup of university student a lie, a cover? If so, how many people knew?

Bah, too much thinking. James wobbled to the shower and stepped in, hissing as cold water hit alcohol-flushed skin. Oh yes. He’d forgotten to turn it to warm. Ah well, this was better at clearing his head. He even opened his mouth to the spray, though the taste of old metal and water softener made him want to puke. He spat out the water and spluttered a bit, scraping his tongue on his teeth to get rid of some of the taste.

When his head was sufficiently cleaned of cobwebs, James turned off the shower and exited, only to realize he’d forgotten his towel. Normally, they would keep their towels in the bathroom; but there were spiders in the cupboard, and Q did not want them disturbed. So the towels were folded in a milk-crate next to the bathroom door. James shrugged and opened the door a crack, reaching to snag one from the crate—only to find that the crate was empty.

Now, James was not shy or bashful or self-conscious about his body. He was quite proud of how he looked. But for some reason he didn’t want to parade around naked through the room he shared with Q. It seemed… indecent.

But he needed a towel. Clean ones were probably dumped unceremoniously on one of their desks; probably Q’s since his was cleanest. James sighed, took a deep breath, and walked out of the bathroom.

Q was still asleep, and stayed that way for the two minutes it took to locate the towels, pick one, and retreat to the bathroom again. James felt a bit silly, but, in his defense, Q could wake up any minute. It was the thought that counted.

He dried off, wrapped the towel around his waist, gathered his clothes, and stepped out again.

Q started, snorted, and woke just as James dumped his dirty clothes in his hamper. “Oh, James,” Q slurred, “You’re early. Or is it late? I can’t tell.”

“It’s 1AM, I think it’s anything you want it to be.”

“Ahh.” Q relaxed back against his pillows and rubbed his eyes, hissing and flinching as he touched the right. James straightened immediately from searching his drawers for clean clothes.

“What happened?” he asked, for now he could see a ring of bruises on Q’s wrist, nearly hidden in the shadows, and the black eye and split eyebrow.

Q shifted, looked uncomfortable, turned over on his side again. “Nothing,” he lied through his teeth.

Happily—or not?—James was very good at detecting lies. He stalked over and grabbed Q’s shoulder, only just blocking his elbow before it connected with James’ jewels. He was more gentle turning Q back over.

A puffy lip, split. The black eye. Bruising around his wrist from being held tightly. Gently, slowly, James reached over Q and picked up his other arm. No bruises. But a fingernail was broken, and there was crustiness under another, like Q had fought viciously with that hand and had not cleaned out all the blood. James let go of both of his arms, and Q sighed wearily, crossing them over his chest.

“I’m not going to show you the rest,” Q told him.

James slowly sat on the edge of Q’s bed. There was a surge of protectiveness flowing through him, growing stronger by the moment. He did not like it when people hurt his friends. And, strangely enough, Q _was_ his friend. In a tenuous, unofficial, sporadic kind of way.

“Who did this?” he demanded softly.

“Nobody you can touch.”

“Was it Wilson?”

“As a matter of fact, no.”

James ground his teeth, frustrated. Wilson, he could track, perhaps even find; anyone else, anyone Q said he couldn’t touch, was out of his reach.

“How can I help?” he asked tensely.

Q said nothing for such a long time that James actually began to feel chilly, sitting there in just his towel. Then he reached out and tentatively touched James’ arm.

“Don’t leave me alone,” he whispered.

James nodded and carefully squeezed his hand. “I won’t.”

~

This turned out to be easier said than done.

First, Q _did_ have classes. While it was true he breezed through most of them and used the time to get up to spy-business, it was also true that he took his studies very, very seriously.

Second, James had classes as well, and the season had started. He couldn’t be two places at once. So he and Q spoke seriously one night and decided that Q should come with James to anything rugby-related. Q had looked nervous as he said it; James knew it was because there would be more people, and they’d want to know why Reclusive Q had suddenly decided to fraternize with the sporting crowd.

“We’ll say I’m forcing you to come, as a socialization exercise,” James suggested, and Q nodded gratefully.

Third, there was the small matter of gossip.

James willingly gave up parties and pubs to keep Q company, but the parties did not willingly give _him_ up. Vicious rumors began to circulate about them; the kindest was that they were sleeping together and Q had James so whipped he wouldn’t go anywhere without him. Even when it became clear that James was the one hauling Q back and forth everywhere, there was still nasty things said about them.

The bruises faded completely after two weeks. Q had shown James that he’d also taken several hits to the torso and legs, but they were healed as well. He also explained that he was alright now, he was sure. No one else was going to come for him.

“You’re still coming to practice, though, right?” James insisted.

Q sighed but nodded, and maybe there was a hint of a smile to his mouth and maybe there wasn’t. “Yes, I am.”

~

Q didn’t like coming to rugby practice because he didn’t like the sport. The only sports he liked were ones involving horses, and even then he didn’t participate because he couldn’t ride. But he found James’ enjoyment of the game fascinating.

Alright, so he fancied James, so what? He was a good person. He was Q’s first friend since primary school. And he’d stuck around even with all the horrible rumors and people making fun of them. So Q found a seat in the third row of the stadium, put his chin in his hand, and watched with vague interest as James and his fellows limbered up. James caught his eye and smiled at him; he ducked his head, pretending to scratch the back of it. God, he needed to stop acting like this. Smile back, idiot! But when he looked up, James was turned back to his teammates.

“Hi!”

Q’s head jerked around, and he saw two people approaching. One was the young woman in most of his computer sciences classes, smiling at him mischievously, dark eyes aglow; the other was the moonfaced man from accounting, looking put-upon and morose.

“Oh… hello,” Q answered uncertainly.

“You’re Q, right?” The young woman stuck out her hand and Q shook it firmly. “I’m Eve, Eve Moneypenny. This is Bill Tanner. We’re in some of your classes.”

“I thought I recognized you but I wasn’t sure…”

“Well, you can be, now. Can we sit with you?”

“Yes, of course,” popped out of Q’s overly-polite mouth, and Eve and Bill settled on either side of him. They seemed not to mind having no conversation, so Q returned his attention to the team currently practicing on the field before them. There was not a lot of noise, which was odd considering that lately the newest members had been extremely rowdy. Automatically, Q sought out James; he was looking especially alert and bright-eyed, smiling slightly even as he was tackled into the slushy mud.

“You know, for all your protesting, you two seem almost joined at the hip when you’re not in classes,” Bill mentioned casually, and yelped as Eve kicked him. Q blushed, but forced himself to answer.

“ _He_ says it’s for my own good,” he muttered sullenly. “Something about not being socialized properly.”

“Well, you are a bit, um, antisocial,” Bill replied, and yelped again as Eve kicked him again. Q hid a smile.

“What Bill is _trying_ to say,” Eve began with a glare at Bill, “Is that we noticed you usually look pretty lonely, with James or not. We were wondering if you’d like to go for ice cream.”

“What?”

“Ice cream. It’s something of a tradition with us. We’re interning with the same boss, and we like to moan about her to each other where no one can hear. So, do you want to come?”

“Um… sure. When?” as he glanced down at the field. James was watching them, just from the corner of his eye.

“Now, if that’s alright with the watchdog,” Eve replied with good humor, and waved to James, who waved back. Bill obviously took that as permission, because he stood and offered his hand to Q, who allowed Bill to help him up because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. Then he turned to Eve, but she had already stood too. She linked her arm with Q’s and led him away, Bill bringing up the rear.

Q glanced back to see James still watching, and gave a shy little wave before turning to Eve.

“So, where do you work?” he asked.

“Oh, just some stuffy government building,” Eve replied airily, flapping her free hand dismissively. “Bill works with the chief of staff and I’m assistant to our boss’s secretary. Not very exciting. Where do you work?”

“IT,” Q answered vaguely, “Contract work, mostly. Web design and security. Programming. Anything online, I can do.”

They chatted about school, about Eve’s hobbies (hunting, mostly big game, and slam poetry at a café), about Bill’s habits (he had tea with the owners of the local antiques shop every Saturday, and they had a million interesting stories that he shared with Q), about James.

It turned out Bill was one of James’ drinking buddies, and Eve was an ex-girlfriend (no hard feelings on either side, it seemed). Between them, they had a wealth of stories and information that made Q resent the polite disinterest the two of them had established. In return for all their chatter, he told them about himself.

By the time they had found the ice cream vendor Eve liked best, Q felt like he’d known Eve and Bill for years, not a few hours. They sat on a bench, Bill on Q’s right, Eve on Q’s left, and ate in comfortable silence. Q felt… good. Friendship had never come easy to him, but this was different. This was very different.

“Oh, Bill!” Eve broke the silence suddenly, leaning around Q. “Did she give you the weekend off?”

A shiver ran up Q’s spine, but he just continued nibbling his triple-chocolate ice cream.

“No,” Bill sighed, “She’s withholding days off as punishment, I know she is.”

“Punishment for what?” Q asked curiously.

“For helping the IT department prank Mallory,” Eve snickered. “Oh, it was beautiful!”

“And we would’ve gotten away with it if someone hadn’t tipped her off,” Bill muttered, sipping melted ice cream from his bowl.

“Mallory?” Q murmured, feeling his eyes widen unintentionally. A thrill of alarm shot through him, but neither Eve nor Bill seemed to hear him.

“I told you it was risky to bring in so many people,” Eve sighed, her smirk falling away. “It was probably Wilson.”

“Probably. He’s desperate to get in her good books… Q? Q, you alright?”

Q stared down at his bowl in his lap and tried to think of something to say. He was sure, now. Very sure.

“MI6,” he murmured, and this time, they heard.

~

James tried not to let his sour mood show, but it did anyway.

“What are you so angry about?” Daniel demanded in the locker room, as they all stripped out of their filthy uniforms. “You haven’t said anything since Eve and Bill borrowed Q.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Thomas sneered. “He’s jealous they took his boyfriend.”

“Shut up,” James growled, teeth clenched.

“He is!” Thomas laughed, pointing at James, “He _is_ jealous!”

“He said shut up, Tom!” Ralph snapped. “Besides, everyone knows you have a thing for Bill.”

Thomas turned red. James turned his head away to hide a smirk. Everyone did know, and it was almost as big a rumor mill as James and Q. The only one who didn’t know was Bill, and everyone was trying to protect him from that fact. He was too good for Thomas.

There was an uneasy silence after that. There were occasional murmurs, but they were sparse, and everyone finished changing as quickly as possible. James was the last one out, and he scowled at the leaden grey sky as he trudged from the locker room to the path to the dorms.

“I’m not jealous,” he told the clouds. “I’m _not_.”

No one answered except an angry squirrel.

~

When James opened the door to the dorm room, he was greeted with Q rushing him. He barely opened his mouth to ask what was happening when Q’s hands landed on his chest and shoved him back, out into the hall. Q followed, slamming the door closed and whipping around to face James again. The terrified expression on his face made something very primal and protective rear its head in James’ gut.

“Q, what the hell—“

“Shut up!” Q hissed, “Just—just shut up!”

James did so.

Q took a deep, shuddering breath and whispered hoarsely, “They know. My boss—she knows. That I told you.”

James blinked. “So?”

“So? _So_?! James, I barely told you anything and she’s still pissed, that means something has happened and she thinks it’s my fault!”

“Nothing’s your fault,” James growled, the primal instincts growing stronger.

“I know that, I—wait, what?”

“Nothing.” James throttled the instincts down and took a deep breath. “What happened? Breach?”

“Probably. Listen, I have a couple, er, coworkers with me, and we need privacy. Can you—go? Please?”

How could James say no, with Q’s hair a wild mess of curls, glasses slipping, eyes pleading, looking so damn adorable in his fear? He still didn’t want to. He wanted to barge in and order those coworkers out, wanted to find Q’s boss and cuss her out for scaring him, wanted to wrap Q up in a blanket and keep him safe from the outside world—

He nodded jerkily. “I’ll go to the pub. Call me when you can.”

Q let out a relieved breath, and James wanted to touch him for some reason… on the hand, the arm, stroke his cheek. But he fisted his hands in his pockets and did no such thing. “Thank you, James. I will.”

James hesitated, staring at Q, trying to find the difference. When had he decided Q needed his protection? When had he started thinking of Q in junction with terms like “adorable”? When had he started wanting to kiss him?

“I’m not jealous,” he whispered.

“What?” Q demanded, bewildered.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” James turned and walked away.

~

Q let himself back into the dorm, frowning. Why had James been looking at him like that? Why had he said he wasn’t jealous? What had he meant with “Nothing is your fault”? Oh christ, he did not need this now.

Eve, Bill, and Wilson were staring at him. He glared back at them all, and sat down at his laptop again, going back to his hacking. “What other information do you need?” he inquired crisply, eyes on the screen.

“Why exactly were you in such a rush to get him out of here?” Wilson demanded, and yelped as Eve stomped on his foot. “Christ, woman, what is your problem?!”

“Shush!” Bill hissed, “You’re not even supposed to be here!”

Q sighed and finished stealing files, clearing all traces of himself before cutting the connection. Now he just had to decode and decrypt the information before sending it on to Q-branch. But first…

Before he could turn around, Eve came up behind him and put her hands gently on his shoulders. “Q, love, we’re sorry,” she murmured.

“For what?” Q asked, surprised, leaning his head back to look up at her. “It’s not your fault you never put together who I was.”

She chuckled. “No, that’s not it. We’re sorry for driving James out. Aren’t we, boys?” she demanded, looking to Wilson and Bill, eyes narrowed and tone sharp.

“Yes,” Bill answered humbly, and elbowed Wilson in the ribs, hard, so that he muttered back a “Yes, yes, we’re sorry.”

“You didn’t…” Q’s eyebrows drew together, and he tried hard to think of why they would be apologizing for _that_ of all things. “You didn’t ‘drive him out’, I pushed him. This is important, and I don’t want her any angrier with me than she already is.”

“I doubt she’s _that_ angry,” Eve told him dryly, with another withering glance at Wilson, who glared right back. “She’s probably annoyed, but you didn’t compromise anything.”

Yes, but one “annoyed” word and Q would be out of a job. He’d lose his name. He’d lose _everything_. His doubts must have shown on his face, because Eve sighed and actually stroked his hair. And he let her, because she was Eve and for some reason finding out she was an agent-in-training only made him trust her more.

“Look, we’ll just leave now. You’ve given us everything we needed to know.”

“No he hasn’t,” Wilson growled, crossing his arms over his chest. “What about why he hasn’t been keeping track of the others?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Wilson!” Bill snapped. “That would be a breach of protocol.”

“Well, he’s already trying so hard to be the next Q,” Wilson accused with a vicious glare, “Why not take up the reins on this as well?”

Q’s fists clenched, Eve’s hands tightened on Q’s shoulders, and Bill took a threatening step towards Wilson, but before any of them could do or say anything, Q’s phone went off, with James’ particular ringtone. Q fumbled his phone out of his pocket and answered with a slightly waspish, “What is it?”

The line was silent for a moment. Then James answered calmly, “Barnaby and I are going to that Indian place you like. Would you like me to bring you anything?”

“Bloody WHIPPED!” hooted another voice—Barnaby, presumably.

Q took a breath to demand what the hell that was supposed to mean when James muttered, “Just a moment,” presumably put the phone down somewhere, and got in a fight.

All four MI6 employees winced and recoiled from the shouts and meaty sounds of fists and feet on bodies. It seemed to drag on for an hour, but it must have only been a few minutes before the shouts petered out. Then James picked up the phone again and began again with, “Sorry, he’s shut up now. Did you want anything?”

“Ah, no, thank you. Is… is he still alive?” Q asked, a little nervously.

“Yes.” James actually sounded disappointed, but quickly shook it off. “Are you sure you don’t want that mirchi bajji you like?”

“Yes, I’m sure. We’re going to be busy for a while yet I think.”

“Ah. Alright. See you later, then.”

“See you. Good bye.”

“Goodbye.”

Q lowered the phone and took a deep breath, then realized James hadn’t rung off first, as he usually did. Frowning, he pressed the ‘end call’ button and set his phone down on the desk.

“Now. Where were we?”

~

Barnaby still didn’t stop teasing James, but he did so carefully, and flinched when James glared. They went to the Indian restaurant, despite the bruises blossoming on their faces and under their jackets, and talked casually about women and classes and bad teachers and the upcoming rave that James was tempted to attend. They’d reached dessert and Barnaby was enthusiastically describing his latest girlfriend’s pros and cons when James’ phone buzzed.

“Gotta take this,” James interrupted Barnaby, and took the phone out to check the caller ID; yes, it was Q. Something in James’ chest unwound a little. He hadn’t even noticed any tightness.

“Hey,” he answered the phone, “Still sure about that bajji?”

“No,” Q croaked.

Instantly, James was on the alert. “What happened?” he demanded.

“Nothing. They’re gone, though. I’m… kind of hungry, and…”

“And?”

So quietly James almost didn’t hear, “I don’t want to be alone. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

That was enough for James. He called the server over and politely asked for something to go for his roommate (Barnaby snickered until James glared), and when he’d gotten confirmation he turned back to the phone. “Q, you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Can I hang up, or will I come back to find that you’ve taken vengeance already?”

Barnaby frowned at James, confused, but James ignored him.

Q laughed, but it was a fragile thing. “You can hang up. I’ll just take a shower.”

“Okay. ‘Bye.” James rang off and tucked his phone in his pocket.

“…Should I ask?” Barnaby inquired carefully.

“No. But he’s been having trouble with his coworkers and they’re trying his patience.”

Barnaby nodded, hesitated, then launched back into an explanation of why his girlfriend was better than his exes. “I’m telling you, she’s an angel, a literal angel!”

James suffered through this chatter nobly, until his takeaway arrived. Then he paid for his portions and escaped.

~

Q braced one hand against the shower wall and tilted his face up to the spray. Why had he called James? He could handle this. He was an adult, he could keep himself occupied until the urge to ruin Wilson’s life passed. But he wanted his real friend around so he didn’t do anything stupid.

Real friend. When had James become his friend? At the beginning of the year they’d both been content with being strangers. When had that changed?

Q knew exactly when. It had been the day he’d told Bond that no one was his friend, that no one _wanted_ to be his friend; and it was still true. Eve and Bill had been the only people to approach him with an offer of friendship all year. But James, James had wriggled his way in slowly, earned Q’s respect, and then gained his trust in increments. That week, that horrible week, after the day Wilson’s brothers had caught Q—

He shuddered and automatically checked his body, though he knew the bruises were gone for good. He still didn’t know what had possessed him to ask James not to leave him alone, but it had been an excellent idea. Q had felt… safe. Every second in James’ company had been a safe one. James _wanted_ to protect him.

It was a lightning-bolt realization. James wanted to protect him. James cared for him. James… no, impossible. Absolutely impossible. It was—it was just his way of showing friendship. That was all. James always protected his friends. Q relaxed, and smiled ruefully at his own folly. As if James would return even a fraction of the affection Q felt for him.

Q had successfully forgotten all about Wilson. He felt much better for it.

~

James was still tense when he opened the door, but he relaxed to see Q sitting in bed in his pyjamas with a mug of tea, on his always-present laptop. James smiled when Q looked up, and set the bag of food on Q’s desk.

“Better?” he asked simply.

“Much,” Q replied, returning the smile as he set his laptop aside and uncurled to pad over to the food. He was wearing the hideous bunny-slippers his uncle had sent him for Christmas; a clear sign that he was still craving comfort.

James took off his jacket, hung it up, and held out his arms. Q stared at him, confused; James raised an eyebrow. Realization dawned, and Q blushed, shaking his head furiously. James shrugged and let his arms fall back to his sides, hiding the spark of disappointment. They’d never hugged before anyway; it would be strange to start now.

Just as he turned away to find his own jammies, a tentative hand touched his back. He turned back, and Q plastered himself to James’ chest.

James hesitated barely a second before returning the hug. He smiled, though Q couldn’t see with his face planted firmly in James’ shoulder, and rubbed Q’s back lightly.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked in a murmur.

“No,” Q whispered, “No, there’s nothing. It’s nothing. Just… what did you mean, nothing’s my fault?”

“I meant—I meant it’s not your fault. Any of it. You’re…” James stopped rubbing Q’s back, but when Q made a tiny, irritated noise, he started back up again. “You’re faultless.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

The shyness in that single sentence, the _hope_ —it made James suddenly want to kiss him. But he had more self-control than that. “The best way.”

Q nodded against James’ shoulder. “Thank you, James.”

“You’re welcome, Q.”

~

Q spent the night nibbling and playing computer games to settle his troubled mind. James didn’t even berate him for staying up past 1AM, which was nice.

He kept thinking about that hug. How warm and gentle and utterly _safe_ it had been. And James had been the one to suggest it.

Was hugging just something friends did? He wasn’t sure. Probably. He went back to slaying dragons.

~

James lay in bed, staring at the wall, thinking.

He’d _liked_ hugging Q. He’d liked it a lot. That wasn’t what was scaring him, though. He was scared because he’d been so close to kissing Q, so close. That would have ruined everything and probably ended up with James sleeping in the hallway, or, worse yet, one of them moving out to a different room. He didn’t want to let Q go.

And that was perhaps even scarier than the thought of kissing Q.

Finally, he turned over on to his stomach and pressed his forehead deep into the pillow, leaving space to breathe but effectively hiding his face behind pillow and shoulder.

“Can’t sleep?” Q asked from across the room, sympathetically.

“No,” James sighed, lifting his head and resting his chin on the pillow, glowering at the headboard. Without quite meaning to, he asked, “Do you have a thing for anyone?”

“Ah. No. Why?”

“Because… because I think I do. There’s this one person…” James realized what he was saying and shut up, turning his head away.

There’s a silence. Then a few more clicks, and then the quiet snap of a closing laptop. Shuffling. Padded footsteps. A dip in the edge of the bed as Q sits down. James’ eyes widen, and he buries his face in his pillow.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he began, a little shyly, “There is someone. I’ve… “had a thing” for him for a while.”

Jealousy sprang up in James’ chest, growling and snapping; but he shoved it away sharply. “Who is it?”

Q snorted. “Like I’m going to tell you.”

“How will I know who to bury when you come home in tears?” James asked innocently, turning over a little so as to better view Q. “Men are such cads sometimes.”

Q shook his head, smiling at his hands, folded in his lap. “He’d never make me cry,” he murmured.

The jealousy crept back, still growling. But James just looked skeptical. “Everyone cries over crushes,” he prodded. “It’s what crushes are for.”

“Yes, well.” Q resettled his glasses. He seemed to be avoiding James’ eyes for some reason. “I won’t. I haven’t got a snowball’s chance in Hell of him even _looking_ at me that way, and that’s perfectly alright. Better than him coming to his senses and realizing I’m a bad idea.”

James sat up and grabbed Q’s arm, trying not to grip him too hard. “Q. You’re not a bad idea. Anyone who catches your eye is lucky. I mean it.” He switched hands holding Q’s arm and gripped his chin, turning his head gently so James could meet his eyes.

“I _mean_ it,” he repeated, when Q just gaped at him, surprised.

“But—my job—and I’m not very dateable—“ Q stammered uncertainly, and squeaked as James pulled him into a rough hug. James had no idea what to say to that, though, so he just held Q until he relaxed again.

They spent several minutes sitting like that. James would never acknowledge the jealousy purring contentedly in his chest, knowing that _he_ was the one Q was relaxing against, that no one else had gotten close enough for this. That maybe Q fancied someone else, but _James_ was the one sharing a bed and holding him for far too long.

Eventually, they both got sleepy. James let go, reluctantly, and Q went to his own bed.

In the darkness and silence, James tried to get comfortable and wound up on his side facing Q. That was alright. Come to think of it, he often woke up facing Q. An interesting detail.

“You didn’t tell me who it was.”

James snorted and echoed, “Like I’d tell you.”

“Who will I know to bury when you come home drunk and crying?” Q teased back.

“I don’t cry.”

“You might, though, you big softy.”

James chuckled. “If this is about the kittens, I’d just like to state that I did _not_ —“

“Oh, just go to sleep.”

It was said with a soft tinge of affection, and James allowed himself to bask in it before chuckling again and murmuring, “Fine. Little kitten.”

~

Life was a little bit more complicated after that.

Eve and Bill became constants, and soon the four of them were going out for drinks or ice cream or staying in Q and James’ room to play computer games or study. This, Q could handle. Just the four of them. And the other three knew and respected that.

James went to the rave, and came back just as he was coming down from some high. Probably ecstasy. Q didn’t know how to help, but he kept his arm around James’ shoulders as the other ranted and sobbed in turns, and reminded James to go to the bathroom and drink some orange juice. Later, when James was exhausted and needed a kip, Q read aloud to him until he fell asleep.

Eve was “hired” (passed her first battery of tests), and was extremely smug about it. She had a right to be; even though she ended up with her arm in a cast, she’d passed with flying colors, which Q knew because he’d hacked her files. Even without his confirmation, Eve had known she’d done well, and now that she had a taste of what being a field agent was like, she was even hungrier for it. It was how her eyes would gleam and her entire being brighten when she talked about her “job”.

Bill was hired, too, part-time, and was in turns excited by and terrified of his increased responsibilities. But he was ready, and good at it, and Q knew for a fact (because Uncle Boothroyd had told him) that the Chief of Staff was already eyeing Bill as her replacement for when she retired.

And Q?

Q became R.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments = love


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